Stalker

Chapter Thirty-Five

Where was he? Derek’s head throbbed, his arm ached, and as he slowly regained consciousness he realized he couldn’t move. His eyes flickered open and images swam in and out of focus. He was on his side on the floor, his arms tied painfully behind his back and his legs tethered at his knees and ankles. He tried to straighten but the cord binding his legs to his knees held him firmly. His mouth was dry; he could barely swallow or part his lips. He peered into the gloom. He seemed to be in a sort of cave. Large grey rocks rose up in front of him with dead bats caught in netting, and a life-size human skeleton was slumped against one rock. He must be trapped in a nightmare.

He groaned and swallowed the bile rising in his throat.

‘I think he’s waking,’ he heard a half-familiar voice say.

‘Where am I?’ Derek whimpered, his voice rasping.

‘In hell,’ someone said, and laughed.

‘Who are you? What do you want with me?’

‘All will be revealed in time.’ Paul’s voice. Then a light tapping that he recognized as a computer keyboard.

The fog clouding his vision slowly began to clear and the nausea settled a little. He struggled onto his back. His knees stuck up, the cord that bound them to his ankles making it impossible to straighten his legs. The room was dark like the hall. He remembered now coming to see Paul at 35 Bushmead Close, a run-down deserted block of flats on the estate. But where was he now? Still in the flat? He supposed so, in a room that seemed to be decorated for Halloween. He remembered the ghoul in the hall and trying to get out of the front door, then the sharp pain in his arm.

‘Did you inject me with something?’ he asked, still on his back, his eyes adjusting to the dark.

‘Yes, with a date rape drug, but don’t worry, we didn’t rape you. You’re not my type.’ It wasn’t Paul’s voice but it was followed by more laughter.

He peered into the gloom, then forced his head further to the left and saw Paul with two others, dressed in black jeans and Watching You T-shirts. They were grouped around a computer, concentrating on the screen. Only Paul wasn’t wearing a mask. The ghoul he’d seen earlier in the hall had been joined by a zombie, the mask showing the side of a face slashed open with a row of rotting teeth and congealed blood around the wound.

‘Why are you dressed like that?’ Derek croaked, his throat parched.

No answer.

‘Why are you keeping me here? What do you want with me?’ he asked.

‘Shut up! I’m trying to concentrate,’ the zombie snapped, his gaze on the screen.

Derek struggled, pulled against the cord but nothing budged. It was knotted too tightly at his back. He stared around the room for any means of escape. Terror welled; he needed to get his bearings, but he couldn’t. All the walls and windows were painted black so it was impossible to make out where they were.

‘What is this place? Why am I here?’

‘I thought I told you to shut the fuck up!’ Zombie barked.

‘I need to use the bathroom,’ Derek tried. He did.

‘Tough,’ Zombie replied. He seemed to be the leader; he was the one issuing orders and working the computer while the other two stood either side of him, watching.

‘You have no right to keep me here,’ Derek said, making his voice as authoritative as possible. ‘If you don’t let me go, I’ll tell the police.’

‘Contradiction in terms,’ the ghoul sneered. ‘You can’t tell the police if we don’t let you go.’

Zombie stood, and for a moment Derek thought he was going to release him, but coming over he raised his booted foot and kicked him in the side. A cry escaped Derek’s throat.

‘Now will you shut the fuck up?’ Zombie snarled, and returned to his chair at the computer.

‘Just keep quiet and you won’t get hurt,’ Paul said.

‘Yet,’ the ghoul put in with a laugh.

Derek lay on his left side facing them, his ribs throbbing from the kick. What the hell was going on? What were they doing and why was he here? Clearly he’d been lured into a trap. Paul wasn’t working here and why were they wearing those masks and in a room that looked like Halloween? He really did need to use the bathroom, urgently.

He caught glimpses of the screen between them. It looked like they were tracking using street CCTV, but he couldn’t be sure. Perhaps it was some sort of sophisticated online game, there were plenty on the market, but that didn’t explain what had happened to him. Zombie and Ghoul could have been the same lads who’d been with Paul when he’d dropped off the second £500, Derek thought. They were the same build and their voices sounded familiar, but he couldn’t be sure. Had Paul told them about the money? Was that what all this was about? Blackmail? If so it would make some sense.

‘Do you want money?’ he asked. ‘Is that why I’m here?’ No one answered; they were concentrating on the screen. ‘It’s no good trying to blackmail me if that’s the reason; the police know everything about me.’

‘What the fuck is he rambling on about?’ Zombie demanded.

‘I’ve no idea.’ Paul shrugged.

‘The police know all about what I’ve been doing with my cameras so you can’t blackmail me. But I’ll give you money, if that’s what you want to let me go.’

‘Shut him up before I do,’ Zombie hissed at Paul.

Paul came over. ‘Be quiet, Derek, do as you’re told.’ He returned to stand beside Zombie at the computer.

It was almost farcical, Derek thought, as if he was caught up in some macabre game or play. But there was no humour in what had happened to him: injected to render him unconscious, then tied up and assaulted. Perhaps they were all mad?

He couldn’t just lie here and do nothing, so he allowed a few minutes and then tried a different tack.

‘My mother hasn’t got any money if you’re thinking of holding me for ransom. And she’s disabled. She needs me. If you let me go I won’t tell anyone I was here. It will be our secret.’ He knew he was babbling but he was scared and he could hear the tremor in his voice.

No one answered; they were all too engrossed in whatever they were watching on the screen. Derek’s anger and terror rose. ‘You can’t keep me here!’ he shouted. Then immediately regretted it.

Zombie jumped up, sending his chair crashing to the floor. ‘I thought I told you to shut the fuck up!’ he shouted, advancing towards him. Through the slits in his mask Derek caught a glimpse of the hatred in his eyes as he towered over him and raised his boot. He cried out in pain and tried to roll away as he kicked him once, twice, three times. Then came a sickening thud to his head and Derek passed out.

When he awoke, the room was empty and with horror and shame he realized he’d wet himself.